


While We Were Waiting

by illyriantremors



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Multi, NSFW, Oral, Secret Relationship, Smut, Threesome, technically canon compliant?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:49:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9151789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyriantremors/pseuds/illyriantremors
Summary: Shortly after Rhysand has been made High Lord of the Night Court, his inner circle finds themselves a little worse for wear adjusting to their new positions. When Azriel comes home from a particularly harsh mission, Morrigan watches the shadowsinger find relief in Cassian and decides there's more between the three of them they ever dared admit. Polyamory ensues.





	1. While We Were Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> I am ridiculously, wildly out of my comfort zone on this. I wrote this mostly because it's a ship I always wanted to see happen, but no one appeared up for writing it. So this is simple wish fulfillment on my part and I am so horribly sorry if it sucks - especially the long winded, wordy beginning. Like really, I'm so so sorry if this is horrible. Good luck! Feedback is welcome as I've never written a smut fic like this before.

Velaris just might be the most beautiful city in the world, Cassian thinks, as he watches the sun set out the window overlooking the city from the House of Wind. He’s only been there for a few months now, but already it feels like home in ways the Illyrian camps never were.

The camps were cold, a stale version of what the world could offer Cassian if he had stayed. Illyrian culture had forged him into a man of blood and battle, wind and rock, but never the warmth or fire his body had always craved. For years on end he had dragged himself into the dead of night where he made his bed out of snow and ash instead.

Rhysand’s mother had offered him an alternative space to call home, and he would always be grateful for that, but that cabin hadn’t really been his. It belonged to the High Lord’s wife and son, Cassian a mere intruder who believed his host family to be taking pity on him for the entirety of the first year he lived in their keep. Mother above how he would like to go back and realize the depth of love Rhys’s mother had shown him that first year. He could have had his fire then if he hadn’t been so busy entertaining ways to keep the heir to the Night Court continually bloodied and bruised.

If it hadn’t been for Azriel, they might never have made it together, might never have survived that year. The shadowsinger brought a quiet energy that thrummed with power from the moment he stepped into the camp, even if he had no idea what to do with it. Cassian had sensed his strength immediately and it sent a vicious shiver of delight through him. The prospect of a fresh fight, new blood, victory… all those horrid things his Illyrian senses screamed at him to indulge, was borderline intoxicating for Cassian.

And Azriel threw himself into it all while keeping that icy rage he carried with him always so guarded, so secretive, that it quieted Cassian and Rhys both. Then they were able to understand one another. Then they were able to see the mutual fears and desires between them. Then they were allies and even friends, so long as Azriel stood between them until the day came when he was no longer between, but simply one of them - the three of them united and inseparable until the end of time.

Azriel was the only reason Cassian would have stayed behind in the war camps when Rhys asked him to come to Velaris. His duty was, of course, to his new High Lord and he would not refuse his brother the world if he asked for it.

The Night Court was tenuous at best after the High Lord had died. Cassian watched for days on end as Rhysand went near insane grappling with the full weight of his powers coming into full effect amidst the grief consuming him. What he had been capable of for the years they trained together in those cold, frigid Illyrian mountains was nothing compared to the might that trembled off of him in those early weeks. The grief of losing his family had ruined him and made his powers come undone.

Rebuilding the court gave Rhys an occupation that Cassian liked very much. He especially liked the shiny new title of General over  _ all _ of Rhysand’s armies that his brother gave him. Lording it over all those assholes who had whipped and tormented his body with plagues his entire life was a blessing he could never have dared hoped for. The privilege of doing it in the name of his court, for his brother’s throne, was an additional honor he would live and die by.

Except for… the idea of leaving Azriel behind - Azriel, now sitting quietly on the floor in front of Cassian who is atop the plush leather sofa behind him kneading into his shoulders. That was a prospect even Cassian couldn’t stomach. But the shadowsinger too had been invited. Never again would the three of them be parted, Rhysand promised. And so that was that and here they all were.

And Cassian is content to sit and silently enjoy his brother’s company, touch him like this even, if it means they stay together to live out their years. Azriel is quiet and Azriel is pensive always, in all the ways that Cassian cannot be, but that is precisely why he appreciates his presence. That gentle calm in a sea of rage and fire Cassian has yet to temper himself.

It isn’t often that Azriel allows anyone to touch him quite like this. His muscles are aching from the hours of his long flight through the skies. Little more than a few months into his missions for Rhys and Azriel is tired.

He’s used to the fights, the drunken brawls, the territorial displays of dominance that are often done purely for sport. He’s even used to war now, the fight to the death with an enemy’s hands at his throat as opposed to a brother you grew up next to in the camps jumping at for sport.

But he’s not used to the spying. That is an entirely new game to play and Rhys plays it differently from his father. The missions are still dangerous, fraught with risk and there is just as much blood on his blade as ever before. Yet he finds that Rhys sends him out with a purpose to rebuild, to protect, to  _ create _ . His father before him had used Azriel’s spying for destructive means, to hurt his enemies and little more. He much prefers the journeys that Rhys sends him on, but knowing the terrible loss his brother would suffer should he fail even once… it is a burden on his heart that weighs heavy, presses in upon him until he feels he cannot breathe even as the thrill of wind dancing along the membranes of his wings takes over and his mission is complete.

Cassian sometimes will sit with him as they are now, will knead the tension out of his back as though his own fingers were the siphons suctioning out the torment. It helps. It abates the pain. But really it is mostly just a comfort that he is there, that Azriel feels his first real friend has not left him. That he will suffer with Rhys through the dawn of a new era in his court and that Cassian will go with him through these trials too.

As Cassian works the knots at the tops of his shoulders, his forearms narrowly brushing his outstretched wings from time to time, Azriel hangs on to the few remaining threads of his work that keep him from ever truly relaxing.

Cassian has seen war, has seen great and terrible things that would destroy a mortal man. Azriel has not only seen the things which would destroy the  _ immortal _ man, but he has  _ done _ them himself, with equal parts disgust and pleasure. It is an evil twisted part of himself he would not share with his brother, would not share with anyone except…

Azriel’s eyes flick up towards the chair where Morrigan is curled reading her book. A steaming cup of tea is cradled between her hands hissing citrus through the air. She had been waiting for him when he returned home that afternoon.

Morrigan is  _ always _ waiting for him.

Even in the camps the day Rhys had first brought her to meet them before her wretched piece of shit father had driven the nail through her stomach and set Azriel’s powers for bloodshed and filth ablaze, she had looked at him and  _ smiled _ . Shyly, at first, but with a radiance that extended into the darkest depths of his soul and shown him mercy. It settled there at the bottom of his heart and waited, waited, waited for him. Every time he was at his end, every time he thought a blade might pierce his flesh to the death or his own hands might betray him from his weak and willing mind, there she was - his Morrigan with that eternal hope and sunlight waiting for him at the ends of his soul to cure him and send him back.

Back to her.

He would fly home wondering if he could stomach another mission, another death upon his sword. He would do anything for Rhys, for Cassian, for the brothers in those mountains he had called home for so long, and for the court he had fought viciously for on the battlefield during the war. Yet sometimes… sometimes he felt the sick gut-wrenching taste of what he’d done and Azriel would know how unworthy he was to return to them, to poison his family with his deeds.

He would fly, harder and faster than he ever had before towards home - towards Velaris - only to find fear crippling him the nearer he got. But just as he would hit the bottom that threatened to pummel him out of the skies towards an endless decay, he would find Morrigan’s lovely hope waiting to catch him and it would drag him closer and closer home.

Sometimes the shadows would go out looking for her. Sometimes they would do what Azriel could not, seeking out his salvation and asking for help. He knew on those days she would be waiting for him. What marveled him were the days he screamed at his shadows not to move so much as an inch from his person and she would turn up anyway, silently stand next to him on the balcony while they watched the sun set or rise - it never mattered the time of day; she would always show up. And she would sit with him. She would sleep with him. She would stay, do anything he needed whether in speech or silence until he felt like there was some small piece of him worth saving again.

Morrigan, of course, does not realize yet that she does this. Oh yes, she waits for her Azriel. Waits for him with a patience and a yearning that could bring down an army that carries death on swift wings. But she does not see how she saves him, how she chases the shadows from the sharp planes of his face. She only sees that he is quietly suffering and she worries.

And she cannot deny that she is… drawn to him. She has always been drawn to Azriel, this man who saved her body and soul. Her life in the Hewn City was the loudest silence she imagines anyone to ever have experienced, a cacophony of sins and grievances that hollered around her day and night and yet ran with such endless hollowness in her bones.

Azriel is a different kind of quiet that stills, a quiet that soothes and calms. His peace is pure that way. A true unyielding silence that settles her heart amid the pain that haunts her with every trip to and from that cursed city of her birth each time she chooses to go.

She does not understand how she knows when he will come home to her, to any of them. Some days, she finds her feet carrying her up the long, lonely steps to the House of Wind for no reason other than her new home is at the end of that stretch and when at last she arrives, there he is waiting for her, wings collapsing behind him in exhaustion, his face drawn in a tight line. Other times, she is so startled from sleep and unable to see an inch in front of her nose, it is as if Azriel’s own shadows have plucked themselves from his body and hastened to wake her, and Morrigan just  _ knows _ he will be there shortly. So she flies to where he will arrive and she waits.

She will always wait for him. For this boy who matches her joy with stillness and calm, who soothes the aches and patches the cracks that she thinks will never seal shut. Who listens to every story, who catches every tear, who takes her into those scarred hands of his and holds, holds onto every drop of who she is and accepts it without preamble or discernment.

Morrigan cannot help that she is drawn to  _ him _ either… to the General who took her to bed and broke himself in two as she cleaved herself from the old life she hated.

Cassian has the fire that she and Azriel are missing. Mor’s own fire is bitter at times, a defense against the crimes committed against her, a way to protect and fight and pretend her world is better now. But Cassian’s fire is not like that. His fire is genuine and natural - a pure  _ passion _ and a thirst not just to survive, but to  _ live _ . His fire draws her in, makes her feel a spirit kindling in the cracks and hisses flickering in his soul that proclaim a home, a space for Mor to curl up in and see the world in living color.

Azriel feels it too. This, Morrigan knows. It is sometimes why he has her send for Cassian when he comes home from his missions. Why he has him touching him as he does now. It is not only that Cassian takes away the burden from Azriel’s body. It is that Cassian replaces it too with that neverending fire that tears Azriel’s nightmares apart, burns them until they are ash and out of that ash comes laughter and light and beauty again for Azriel to soak in.

And it makes Morrigan… think.

Think as she does now, setting her tea aside to watch the way Cassian sits so closely to Azriel, leans forward and presses against him in ways that might not be wholely necessary.

Think about Azriel as his stiff posture shifts steadily over time until she can see him losing that perfect control he has mastered and his head dips backwards towards Cassian’s lap ever so slightly...

Mor can't help but notice the way Azriel’s wings shudder with every accidental brush of Cassian’s fingers, nor the way Cassian goes rigid when his hands knead more carefully along the muscles in Azriel’s neck. She wonders if either of them realize the effect they're having on the other, so subtle for two Illyrian men fashioned out of obtuse vulgarities and overt displays of sexuality.

She wonders if…

How long had they trained together before Mor stumbled upon them that first day in the camps? How long since then?

The opportunities must have been plenty. Whether the women were scarce or they simply didn't care, Mor reflected on the several decades worth of history and blood and… outright love between her warriors. Had they ever…?

As if in answer to her thoughts, Morrigan watches a dark tendril of shadow curl around Azriel’s ear bringing his attention to her.

“You're staring,” he says, the velvet in his voice curious if not a little apprehensive too. It causes Mor to take a step back in approach, until Cassian…

“Let her stare,” he says with all of his usual arrogant bravado. Where others are serious, Cassian is a harmless joker looking for the rich reward of a laugh or a smile.  “This show’s worth staring at.” He flexes his eyebrows suggestively, allowing the implications to sink in, not realizing that Morrigan had been thinking of that very same idea herself without the hindrance of a joke. 

“Cassian,” Azriel says, but Morrigan steals herself with confidence, the same confidence that grew out of her when she left the Hewn City. It is the confidence that bought her her freedom, that said she knew what she wanted and had a right to ask for it as she pleased. And right now, seeing Cassian’s cocky smile as he looms over Azriel, her shadowsinger who looks so at ease even as his shadows scatter under Cassian’s suggestions, Morrigan knows what she feels growing in the pit of her stomach. Knows it like she knows the weight of the crown Rhys sets upon her head every time she walks under that mountain.

“Actually...” Mor says firmly closing the book in her lap and casting it aside. There are no false pretenses as she speaks nor in the way she looks between the men with her brow raised demanding her question. “I won't deny that I've been...” she says with a nonchalant pause, before adding no less plainly than if she were asking for pepper across the dinner table, “imagining things between you.”

A careful shrug is given as Cassian snorts - because surely she can’t be serious. Though he knows that part of him (a much larger part than he cares to confront) is hungering at Morrigan’s words, thirsting with unfulfilled need to see her dangerous implications realized.

Azriel would never, however. They are brothers, not lovers. And Azriel is too sheltered, too isolated in his demons to ever come out and consider  _ Cassian _ . Not to mention his distraction with the golden haired angel sitting across from them with rosiness on her cheeks and a halo around her head. She stepped into that camp and Cassian knew, knew it the instant she looked at the pair of them, that Azriel was lost forever, doomed to follow her to the ends of the earth and so he had. Cassian was sometimes ready to follow her too. In his own way, he’d already done it and he’d be lying if he said a part of him didn’t want to go back down that road again now that there would be no more pesky consequences that ended in blood and nails and tears…

He is about to protest, to quip with his usual flair for humor that none other carries when Azriel -  _ Azriel _ turns his head towards Morrigan with careful precision and in an equally plain and serious manner to her own tone, asks, “What kind of things have you imagined, Morrigan?”

The devil’s own smile rises to Mor’s lips slow and tantalizing, full of secrets and demands waiting to be unleashed if the pair of them are willing.  _ Oh _ how she hopes they are willing. The fact alone that Azriel did not so much as flinch at her words has sent her nerves firing without end, a slow heat creeping into her blood that calls a secret pleasure to her will.

She thinks Cassian is too stunned to believe it. But he does not move away from Azriel. If anything, he leans  _ closer _ . And Morrigan thinks that maybe, just maybe, he wants this too.

She decides it is worth the risk of finding out.

“I’m imagining, Azriel,” she says with special emphasis on his name. How he loves the way she says it, caressing every syllable with care and pride in a way that calls to his more carnal senses, makes his body feel the pull to be claimed by her. “What it would look like if you touched each other.”

Morrigan sinks back into her chair with her arms and legs crossed waiting to see what their reply will be.

Of course, Cassian is already touching Azriel - has been for a long time now while they’ve watched that sun sink lower and lower in the sky and Cassian’s hands drum into the muscles throbbing in Azriel’s shoulders. Morrigan, however, disguised nothing with her tone. They know exactly what she’s asking and it would be only too easy to brush her off, to pretend this wasn’t happening and move on with their new lives in Rhys’s court as if all were normal, except…

Except that Cassian - Cauldron boil and bake him, he can't believe the darker shade the conversation has turned toward - Cassian doesn’t quite want things to go back to normal. Sitting there in the near dark, time seems to be suspended. For this one brief moment he is allowed to imagine Azriel (and maybe Morrigan if he’s lucky, and right now he feels very lucky) in all the ways he never thought he could before. And oh how he wants to.

It all depends on Azriel. Will Cassian’s life ever not depend on this Illyrian male who has come to control so much of his life for several decades over now? Who he fought for and bled for in the mountains and in the war? Who he would have stayed behind for…

Azriel continues to sit quietly, allowing his shadows to do the scrambling for him. They flit in and out of his head, pouring sweet venom through his ears that conjures the most wonderful images. Cassian’s hands over his chest, his back… Cassian’s lips against  _ his _ lips, his skin… his wings…

They’ve never gone there. Never dared step over that line. The lady in red sharing this room with them has a lot to do with the reason why, if he’s honest. Morrigan is the cure to his entire life’s misery. He craves her more than life or death itself. But Cassian… Cassian… Right now he doesn’t know who his mind is more drawn to.

Azriel turns his head to the side and up just enough to look at the Illyrian sitting behind him. He allows his eyes to trail over what he can see of him - the muscles of his thighs, the light brown hairs over his arms, the calloused hands resting on his shoulders where Cassian has, Azriel suspects, not realized he has stopped massaging.

And Azriel knows then and there that he is willing.

He finds Cassian’s eyes, straining in that near dark of the room, and gives a subtle nod before facing straight again to wait for the final verdict. When Cassian’s hands move forward on Azriel’s shoulders, pressing firmly against his skin as they dip below the collar of his fighting leathers and down onto his chest, Azriel closes his eyes in sweet relief.

Cassian’s hands are rough, but nothing like his own, Azriel thinks. He feels Cassian inch forward to the edge of the seat, as far as he can possibly go without falling off or pushing into him, as his arms strain to go lower on Azriel’s chest and torso. Azriel wants more. Every inch Cassian takes blazes a trail of heat across his skin that has Azriel sending his head backwards until it has tipped into Cassian’s lap.

“What do you want him to do?” Azriel asks. It is a question for Morrigan to decide. He wants the command. He wants someone else to decide how this goes. He has been with lovers before, but never anyone so… close to him, he’s almost not sure how to handle it.

“I want you to kiss him,” Morrigan says and Cassian wastes no time. His hands slide quickly back up Azriel’s chest and hold on at his jaw, his neck as Cassian leans down and lowers his lips to Azriel’s with no hesitancy. Azriel’s hand is immediately bracing into Cassian’s hair, his body twisting around to face the Illyrian general as the kiss deepens.

Morrigan watches half delighted, half shocked. She wasn’t entirely sure anything would happen, but  _ this _ … Now she wonders how far it might go, though part of her already suspects the answer. And the more she watches Cassian kissing Azriel - or maybe now it is Azriel who kisses Cassian - the more she feels heat building between her legs. The more she  _ wants _ .

The kiss, as desperate and lustful as it is, is all lips and tongues, Morrigan notes. Too much space still exists between their bodies. Space that… she could fill, perhaps. If they’ll let her.

Slinking out of her seat, Morrigan approaches the men on the sofa and Azriel suddenly feels cool air against his back as magic undoes the straps of his leathers. His wings are freed, able to stretch glorious wide without that burdensome fabric itching at the membranes where they join his back, a back that a pair of red-stained lips are now delicately and gloriously kissing.

He can’t see her. He can’t taste her. But mercy, how Azriel can  _ feel _ her and she is heaven against his skin, a rich heat that her lips alone press into him. When her hands - so soft and smooth and unlike the rough hands of the man he kisses - slink onto his hips, caressing the hard muscle they find there, it is all Azriel can do to stop himself from shuddering and collapsing between these two people he cares about so much.

Cassian feels the shudder. He also feels Morrigan’s hands maneuvering their way around Azriel’s middle. His hands chase after hers and she does not object when they offer help in unbuckling the pants of Azriel’s fighting leathers. When the seam is undone, it is Cassian who tentatively runs his hand along bulge bursting through the open seam at Azriel’s crotch. Cassian can practically hear the blood running through his body at top speed. His wings twitch with the desire to feel and know more.

“Shall we take this upstairs?” he suggests, summoning up some of Azriel and Morrigan’s affinity for stating simple truths, simple demands with simple words - the need to seek after what he desires because it’s worth the risk quickly taking over and fuck, why bother wasting anymore time?

He wants this. He wants them  _ both _ .

Cassian barely has time to register Morrigan’s insatiable grin before Azriel is standing, blocking his view of her. Though the trio of them may be easy with their words, there is nothing soft or slow about the way in which they scramble quickly up the stairs with a sense of urgency behind every step. Something is brewing between them, has been for many decades, an energy that Cassian is living for on this cool, quiet night. It’s thrilling and delicious and when they get to the top of the stairs and burst into the first room they find - Morrigan’s - Cassian magicks his shirt undone from his back and leaves it at the top of the stairs forgotten.

Now that they’re inside a room with an actual bed, Morrigan feels right at home. This is her bedroom, after all. Her kingdom to play in. And she’s going to have both of these boys on her by the end of the night.

Starting with whoever she can get her hands on first, which just so happens to be Azriel. She swivels around and finds him greedily following right behind her, desire pulsing behind those hazel eyes. The look latches on to her and she can’t tear her eyes away from him. She grabs his open leathers at the waist and yanks him forward - closer, closer, closer until they’re backing up.

They would have smacked into the bed had it not been for Cassian - Cassian swooping in behind Morrigan and grabbing fistfuls of her dress that he pulls up, up, up at the same time she pulls Az’s leathers down, down, down. Mor let’s Cass drag the dress off her with upraised hands. She’s wearing nothing more than a slip of fabric around her waist and a thin bralet so sheer, she might as well have not worn anything at all. The way Azriel stares at the peaks of her nipples through the lace tells her he quite agrees.  _ Why is it still on? _

Before she can remove it, Cassian has scooped her up in his arms and is pulling her up on the bed, Azriel lifting her by her feet and Morrigan can’t help it - can’t stop the rupture of laughter that comes spilling out of her like golden sunlight through a meadow, this is all happening so fast.

_ This is easy _ , she thinks.  _ This is fun _ . Why haven’t they done this before? Cauldron knows this was how it always ought to have been, why she had been fated to wander into their camp that first day. It was for this - these men who are wrapping themselves around her, Azriel kissing up her legs with a fever that suggests he might die if he doesn’t get a better taste soon, Cassian falling on his back and taking Mor down with him with hungry hands.

And she kisses him.

She forgot how delicious Cassian tasted. Everything about that first time comes rushing back to her, all the dirty miserable layers of it striped away until only the pure and good remains, the reasons she slept with him in the first place: his kindness, his warmth, his gentle heart buried in all that muscle and strength. A true god is at her fingertips and right now her fingertips just want to feel him all over again as though for the first time.

In a sense, it is like the first time as Morrigan kisses him. This time, they are free to be whoever they are. Consequences do not exist. Morrigan could get off on that thought alone as she tears at his pants, untying him and undressing him until he’s naked underneath her.

When Morrigan grinds her hips against him, Cassian finally lets loose the groan he’d been holding back for quite some time now.

He remembers this. He remembers her. The scent of her hair as it falls around his face, the tart citrus of her skin as she grips him, the tightening of her legs as the muscles work around him revealing just how intensely she  _ needs _ him on her. And Cauldron he likes it. More than likes it.

He liked her the first time too before everything had gone to shit. There was never any getting over Morrigan. Not really. And as her lips begin a slow trail down his neck and chest that has her hips pushing farther and farther back, Cassian finds his hands scrambling in the sheets to keep up, to anchor him to something - anything - before Morrigan lowers lips to his hips and finds his cock.

When Morrigan places her mouth around Cassian’s hard length, Azriel’s kisses become a tight series of nips and tugs and bites along the soft curves of Morrigan’s skin, consuming her thighs and back. He’s reveling in the way her body feels nearly naked against his, like two halves of a whole made to fit together.

He wants desperately to taste her, to be within her, but then Cassian’s groanings fill his ear and he’s never heard a sound so right as that.

The three of them move in perfect synchronicity. There’s no need for direction anymore. No need for commands. That went out the window the second the three of them gave in to each other. They were made for this, Azriel thinks.

Gently, he presses himself into Morrigan until she’s down as flat as she can possibly be between Cassian’s legs. The slick sounds of her sucking at the Illyrian beneath her send Azriel into a frenzy that is too good to ignore. He kisses his way up Morrigan’s thighs, her rear, her back, and then right when Cassian begins to tense beneath her, Azriel reaches his arm around Morrigan’s waist and his fingers drop below the hemline of her underwear searching.

It shatters Morrigan’s pace.  _ Damn him _ \- she nearly has to stop herself entirely the first time Azriel touches her like that, she can feel her body sweating, starting to shake.

But Azriel is nothing if not smart. Because now they’re building together - Cassian and Morrigan as she starts her rhythm on the general all over again at the same time Azriel’s deft fingers start a dance all around her clit. Every nudge, every stroke, every ounce of pressure Azriel applies sends the embers she had felt smouldering in her crotch into a deep fire that builds and builds and builds until her mouth is sucking at Cassian so fast, she barely has time to allow herself breath.

She takes what she can’t fit of him into her hand, runs her tongue along the tip of his head, and Cassian groans, this time her name the strained sound coming off his lips. “Morrigan,” he pleads. Mor notices the way it sends Azriel away from her clit and further down to where a thick wetness lies waiting. A soft snarl sounds behind her.

Cassian has never said her name like that and Morrigan finds she rather likes it. Wants to hear it again. Wants to savor the sense of control it gives her, the sense of power she has over him even as she loses that same power to this damned man behind her.

But for now, it’s Cassian writhing beneath her, hands fisting in the sheets and she can feel how close he is, can practically smell it on him. His fists begin to shake and Morrigan moans as she takes him in one furious, deep lick of him in her mouth that has him shattering over the edge and finally, she can hear her name falling off his tongue again.

_ “Morrigan,” _ he groans. Mor finishes working him and then removes herself, licking her lips and when Azriel flips her over, catching her by surprise, the shadowsinger savors the wild smile she’s wearing bold and proud. He kisses her deeply - tasting her, tasting  _ Cassian _ \- and Cauldron help him, he just needs to have her entirely naked beneath him -  _ now _ .

_ Morrigan, Morrigan, Morrigan... _

His hands are a mess at her hips, pulling her underwear off of her.  _ Tearing _ it off, more like. Her hips come down just in time for Azriel to find her chest rising up off the bed, Cassian helping to hold her up so he can undo the bralet and cast it too aside. And Azriel freezes. Freezes right there at the sight of his Morrigan utterly naked before him, held aloft in Cassian’s grasp. Morrigan winds one arm around the arm Cassian holds her with and then travels up as high as she can reach, all the while that feral wicked gleam in her eyes as she grins at him.

He drinks her in before following that hand of hers up to where it connects with the hard, scarred planes of Cassian’s chest. Cassian is staring at Azriel with dark determination and when their eyes meet, he finds that his friend has only two words for him.

“Take her,” Cassian murmurs, his voice rich and thick because he knows what this moment means. He knows what having Morrigan is like. And he knows just how damned  _ badly _ Azriel wants it, has wanted it since the moment he met her all those years ago. He wants him to have her too, to understand the utter ecstasy of what that sensation feels like. Cassian’s heart speeds up into overdrive as he watches Azriel lean forward and commences a slow prowl up Morrigan’s body, Cassian shifting out from behind her as he goes so that she can lie against the sheets he has tangled up so terribly.

When Morrigan feels Azriel enter her for the first time, her body can hardly contain itself, she feels as though she might literally explode. Every nerve inside of her is singing. Every inch of skin tingles with sweet relief, the thrill that this - finally  _ this _ is what she has been waiting all these decades for and fuck if he isn’t absolutely perfect sheathed inside her.

Her hands hardly know what to do with themselves, so they go everywhere all at once - his hair, his face, his chest, his back. And when she manages to skim along the membranes of his wings, Azriel shudders so terribly against her that he thrusts inside her deeper and harder than before, pulling a cry out of her body that Morrigan did not know herself capable of making. He smells so perfect - leather and rain and  _ oh, Azriel - Ah-Ah-Azriel. _ Whether she only thinks his name or actually manages to say it, she’ll never know.

Azriel, for his part, has never felt more alive than this first time being with her. Her body trembles against him and it’s all he can do not to lose control and utterly devour her. He nearly does anyway. He could stay here forever, he thinks, stay inside his Morrigan and listen to her sing for him until she no voice left to use. As her legs wrap around his waist locking together, Morrigan groans out his name and his pace automatically quickens on her. She’s close - he doesn’t know how he knows, but he just does, the same way she always knows when to bring him home from the hardest missions.

His lips find her breasts in response and nip at her nipples, licking and sucking at the pert peaks they’ve become.  _ “Azriel,” _ he hears his Morrigan breathe and when he moves his mouth an inch over on her breast and gently bites down, he feels her come for him, the muscles of her clenching tightly around him. Her back arches off the bed as he slams into her and the symphony of sounds that he is privileged to hear come out of her feel like a gift from the Cauldron itself. When Cassian leans in and presses a hot, breathy kiss against Azriel’sl ear and Azriel is filled with that deep scent of him like smoke and wood of campfire, he finds his own release, spilling himself inside of Morrigan and folding himself into her completely.

Nobody wants to move for a good long while after they’re spent. It is Morrigan, in the end, who urges them all up and under the sheets properly. With a quick glance at the balcony doors, her magic has them gently opening, the cool night breeze floating inside to greet their heated, sweat-slick skin. She can’t sleep with the doors closed anyway. It’s too much like her childhood spent under that cursed mountain where everything was closed and trapped and contained.

Tonight is not a night for that. Tonight is peaceful. Tonight is happy. Tonight is  _ good _ . Everything her childhood was not.

Azriel will not let go of her as they pile themselves beneath the sheets. He pulls her by the waist, tucking her body into his while Cassian lies on her other side nuzzling up against her chest. The boys reach across her towards one another until some part of them connects, though Morrigan is not sure which as her eyes flutter closed and soon the room is a quiet harmony of deep breaths and the occasional soft hum as together, the three of them fall asleep.

They will not tell Rhysand. They will not tell anyone. This space is too private, too perfect, to let anyone else invade it. For now and for however many years they’re given, they will spend their nights sharing each other with no one else invited into their world.

This is all theirs. This is perfect. They will not share it, not after how long it took to get here.

Cauldron knows they’ve waited long enough.

xx


	2. While We Were Wasting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after their fledgling relationship has formed, Mor is away for one of her initial visits to the Court of Nightmares and comes back the worst she's ever been since the Incident. Cassian and Az help her pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not 100% satisfied with how the dialogue in this turned out and I'm sorry that it again gets wordy as I tend to write this stuff. But this fic has been on my heart for months now and I poured a lot of my own darkness into what Mor, Cass, & Az go through. So I hope you like it all the same!
> 
> Also, since the first two chapters focused on Azriel and Mor coming back from missions, the third chapter will eventually focus on what happens when Cassian comes home from the camps, which will resume the smut-astic times for our trio. :)

It’s in the early hours of the morning, before the sun is even up, when Azriel feels the cool brush of darkness kiss his cheek.

He jolts awake at once, used to that feeling of warning shaking his senses alive in the middle of traps and snares that would bring him one step closer to death. He knows immediately that this is not one of those mornings. That he is safe. That there is no enemy. And that Cassian is still sleeping peacefully at his side on his stomach, his wings stretched out wide over the pair of them while Az’s are tucked in tight just underneath.

Yet, that shadow is there at his cheek waiting until his eyes blink into the darkness to glide toward his ear and  _ whisper _ .

It’s not a word that Az receives so much as a collection of thoughts, scents, emotions. He feels the sorrow first. Sorrow that is deep and overwhelming and brings a taste of salt into his mouth that stings a dried cut on his lip. And even with his eyes adjusting to the black of Cassian’s room with ease, all his mind sees is darkness, the darkness of rock and dirt and emptiness - a pit with no beginning or end.

What the shadows tell him to hear, though, is the worst of all. Is what pushes Az upright in bed causing Cassian’s wings to shake awkwardly off of him, but he does not wake. Azriel leans forward, his gut wrenching in physical pain because the sound he hears could not be worse, could not send his blood racing faster, or make his muscles cry out in anxiety more. For all he hears... is silence.

He’s scared to look. He’s scared to know. But he does it anyway. Stills himself in the quiet of Cassian’s richly furnished room that is simple and clean, but so full of warmth and color in ways that completely oppose all the senses the shadows flood him with. Running a hand through his hair, Azriel inhales deeply and catches it - the  _ citrus _ \- and swears.

It’s only a moment of looking at Cassian before he decides to gently shake him awake, though he hates to do it. His body is so relaxed like this, Az thinks, staring at the wide expanse of his back - the beautiful tattoos that move in sworls and runes down the column of his spine that seem to mirror how Cass moves with a sword in hand, precisely the way he was born to be.

Softly, Az reaches a hand to that back and pushes. He can’t leave him here. This… thing between them all is so new, and still so tenuous in ways. None of them are sure how it works really, excepting when the three of them are together. That’s when it feels right again. That’s when it makes sense. Whenever one of them leaves, the cracks appear and it’s a few days or a week or grievously longer before they’re allowed to feel whole again at the other’s return home.

That’s why Azriel lingers - for Cassian. Because he knows that no matter what he finds waiting for him down the hall, they’ll all need Cass there. One or way another, Azriel knows the night won’t heal if he lets the man beside him stay - this man he’s come to love in unexpected and surprising ways.

“Cass,” Az says. He doesn’t bother quietly whispering. He needs him awake  _ now _ . “Cassian - wake up.” Cassian stirs, grunting into his pillow, face scrunched up. He’s generally pleasant once he’s roused, but until he’s out of bed, Cassian sleeps as deep as winter when it settles across the Steppes in the north.

Taking his hand, Azriel allows those shadows to pulse between them, a reflection of images and feelings and most especially that scent. Cassian’s eyes snap open. “Wha - when?” he asks, scratching the corners of his eyes.

“Just now. I think,” Azriel says, but… he has a feeling. And those visions of darkness - memories, more like it - felt old. Some of them as ancient as the dawn itself. “I think maybe sooner.”

Cassian, for one, doesn’t know what to think except to say that he feels inordinately frustrated with himself. He knew. He’d had a feeling earlier that day that something was… wrong. But he’d toppled into bed with Azriel to avoid it and now he curses himself for the mistake.

They should have checked then. Azriel had seemed only too happy for the distraction, so Cass had let it fly. But now… now that darkness is overwhelming, that grief destructive. Now it is too late.

“Come on,” he says, pushing off the bed and making for the door. He notices that neither he nor Az bother putting a shirt on over their bare chests, sticking to the loose sleeping pants they had shirked on earlier before finally drifting off to sleep.

The House is quiet as they pad down the hallway, keeping their wings tucked in tight even though the hallways were built to accommodate the great shape of them. Not even the wood at their feet creaks with the weight of their steps. The windows are closed. No wind howls through.

And her door is closed.

Cass runs a hand over the paneling of it, hesitant. Mor is such an open person, even her room invites them in and anyone else who sees fit to seek out a bit of comfort or fun from the High Lord’s jubilant Third. At most, he thinks he’s only ever seen it closed to a sliver of light, but never firmly shut. When Azriel turns the knob and that door opens without a word, Cassian thinks his heart might be breaking.

She’s asleep on the bed. Quiet. And she looks like she’s in pain.

Contorted beneath the sheets, Mor’s body is twisted together, bent in on itself tight, trying to keep safe. She’s not dreaming. There is no nightmare making her body tremble. No, in fact, Cassian sees she is perfectly still.

But the room is hot. And her balcony is sealed shut. Mor can’t stand to sleep like that. Cass knows from the number of nights they’ve stayed together and she insists on throwing every opening in the room wide to the night. It feels… free, she usually says. Tonight apparently, their Morrigan is not free. Only trapped. It sends a jolt of worry down his spine.

Cassian looks at Azriel and from the look of pain and utter shock written in the drop of his jaw and the hollow shape of his eyes, he knows they’re thinking the same thing. So he puts voice to it. “She didn’t even-”

“No,” Az says. He can’t stop staring at the bed. Staring at the way Mor has fallen asleep with the pillow hugged closed to her chest. Even this far into the darkness of the night, he knows her face is red and flushed.

And all he can think - all Azriel can know - is that he wasn’t there when she left the Hewn City. He wasn’t there when she winnowed to Velaris and decided she’d rather climb ten thousand steps than ask for one of them to come find her. And he wasn’t there when she fell into bed gasping, needing him and Cassian too, but found herself alone in a quiet room.

Part of him feels… unsettled. She could have gone to Rhys, in the townhouse. She could have easily stayed with her cousin if she’d wanted to be alone, but she hadn’t. She’d still come home. To him. To Cassian. Yet she hadn’t woken them. Why?

How horrible had they been to her this time to destroy her and leave her looking so… so empty?

It’s Cassian who dares to step forward first, who has to climb halfway over the bed to get to her, she’s tucked herself inside as far as she possibly can. To feel safer? To feel less alone? To feel as though she isn’t on the brink of something dangerous and final should she fall?

He doesn’t like seeing her like this. Even before Cassian pushes the hair back from her face and she instantly stirs, he doesn’t like that she’s lifeless. That the usual joy she carries has been snatched away by those monsters. In the morning he’ll insist he’s there next time, that she takes him with her. Him and Azriel both. And at the first sign of Keir and his cretinous family, they’ll be there ready to make the killing blows should Mor need them to. But for now…

For now Cassian watches Mor wake to his touch, her entire body shuddering over the pillow almost as though afraid of that touch, like she might still be deep under that rock in the earth and it’s not his touch welcoming her, but someone else far less pleasant.

Morrigan is too lost to the darkness of hell to notice Cassian at first. She had always imagined that hell would be a place that lived and raged with fire and color the way she danced and laughed. But she was wrong.

The first two times she had become a queen in the Hewn City, Rhys went with her. And though her family was angry, they cowered in the wake of his presence. Of seeing the daughter they had sold and pierced be crowned above them all.

This time, however. This time… Mor had gone alone. Had quite insisted Rhys stay behind. And that she take no one with her.

The task was simple, nothing that required assistance. And she had to learn to face them all on her own sooner or later, or else forfeit her place in the Court of Dreams. She knew Rhys would never fire her and would always keep a place at his table working for him even if her only job was to sit on her ass and flick him when he made stupid suggestions here and there. But Mor wanted to be… more than a guest, more than an obligation of blood. She wanted to be more than a cousin even. A queen. Free and wild and just.

Her family did not see her that way. That much she discovered when she walked inside those serpentine gates of the city alone and saw how they did not cower, learned quickly that they expected to hold sway over her just as easily as they once had. She was their daughter, after all… once.

It had been only too easy to stop them. To show them  _ precisely _ where they now stood under her. A few screams and broken bones only did the job too quickly and she knew Rhys would approve of it all when he learned in the morning.

But the words had stung. Words that were as final as death and as sharp as needles that they permeated her soul and threatened never to leave as she feld at her first chance - in the middle of night when no one would miss her. She cried the entire way up those steps, not even thinking to call for help, her pride stopping her from doing so even if she’d wanted to.

That’s when she’d learned that hell was not all fire and color and burning. It was darkness. It was empty. It was miserable  _ silence _ . And that silence was blindingly, achingly cold.

It was everything that the cool, sweet touch on her brow was not. It took her a moment to settle, to know she was no longer alone to her chains, before Mor found herself turning into that lightness, her hand reaching through the sheets up her body to find it and hold on for dear life.

Azriel is the first person she sees - standing in the threshold over her room watching her with such a pained expression on his face that only breaks slightly when he sees her eyes open. Her body feels so heavy against the mattress, like the mountain itself is holding her down. So she follows the hand cupping her cheek to safety, to freedom.

To Cassian.

There’s hardly any moonlight in the room, her curtains are drawn. But she knows the look on her lionheart’s face. She knows his eyes are soft as the earth after a hard rain, and the callouses on his fingertips are repentant for their coarse exterior. And that he’s aching to hold her until her dried, pasty lips stop quivering against his thumb.

Soft candlelight fills the room, turning the bleak colors warmer, and Cassian has to bite back a gasp.

He has never seen her so wrecked, it almost renders him speechless. Her face is pale and streaked with dried tears, her eyes stained red. Her hair lacks all of its usual polish as though the wind had cut at it a hundred times as she climbed to the House. And her skin is nothing more than a thin shell of a ghost, white and haunted.

Cassian allows his thumb to run over Mor’s chin freely now, needing to feel the smile and warmth return. He sighs, willing himself not to break when he sees the tears threaten and feels her fingers curl over his palm. And Cauldron, it’s so damned hot, he wonders that she can even see him straight.

“Bath or shower?” Cassian asks, his voice barely audible. But it is strong. Strong and steady for her.

It is even more painful when Mor opens her mouth and then has to close it again so she can swallow, so the words can find a path to the surface that isn’t dry. Finally, she manages a single word and it comes out in a rasp. “Bath.”

Cassian nods, relieved that she’s willing to trust him, and leans in to kiss her brow, holding her face between his hands. “Okay,” he says with a small, encouraging smile. “Anything you want, sunshine.”

Azriel watches Cassian step off the bed and make for the bathroom where he can hear water running a few seconds later. But then Mor is watching him and there’s a… a tether between them in that look. A line cast into the water of shadows asking for something.

He doesn’t break eye contact with her until he reaches her balcony doors and throws them open. A blast of cool air floods the room, the blessed night wind crossing the space and finding her skin. He watches Mor take a breath and shudder. He’s on the bed next to her in a heartbeat, peeling the hot blankets and sheets from her sweat-slick skin. Mor’s arms release for him to pick her up at once.

_ There _ .

He can smell it.

The citrus his dreams had forewarned him of. It’s just missing the cinnamon - the  _ zing _ that makes her  _ her _ .

Stroking the sticky tangles of her hair down her back, Az realizes she hasn’t even changed. She’s still wearing the silk dress with the plunging neckline and high slit she’d left the court in. And his heart breaks. How little she had cared for herself in returning - oh it hurts him. Hurts him to think of their Morrigan like this.

“Mor,” he whispers, finding her shivering against him, fingers digging in at his shoulders where she’s wrapped herself around his neck.  _ “Morrigan, _ ” he says, over and over again. He scoops her up and she curls into his lap, and he’s just about ready to call for Cassian to keep watch so he can fly to the mountain and strikes it down in one blow when he hears it - hears  _ her _ .

“Azriel,” she breathes. And it’s raw. Raw the way Mor feels inside. Laid bare and exposed.

She never wants to feel this way again, but she knows she will. Knows it deep, deep inside her bones.

His name seems to have undone something inside Azriel because at the sound, he’s pulling back from her and the loss of contact against his chest, his chin, feels devastating. She  _ needs _ him. Needs all of him just then or she might never recover.

But then he’s pulling her lips up to his with heartbreaking care, holding every inch of her between his hands as if she is the most precious jewel on the earth, or the wind he chases in the skies, or the sun giving him life as he watches its yolk rise and fall each day. And he smells like leather. And he tastes even better, like fresh rain that is cool and crisp and cleansing. The way the water will be - where their other half is waiting.

The kiss does not move, but it seems to last forever. On and on their lips linger, taking their time to say  _ it will be alright, I’m here now _ . When they finally do break, their brows come together, and Mor melts into the touch of Azriel brushing her nose with his. Finally, there’s a small prick of - of  _ something _ \- deep inside her hollows.

“Come on, love,” he says, scooping her up. She lets him.

And Azriel is so, so grateful that she does.

He carries her into the bathroom and sets her down on the smooth tiles that feel warm from the stifled room against his feet. Cassian has the bath, which is really more like a small swimming pool, filled with water and bubbles and sweet honeyed scents. He thinks Mor gives a weary start at the sight of it, making his heart pound a little faster because he needs to help her, needs to clean and heal her so that she stops looking like that, so sad and small.

His Morrigan isn’t small. She is beautiful and perfect and wondrous, he thinks, as he lifts her arms and reaches around her to tug the delicate silk from her shoulders and down her back. She stands like a leaf waiting to be blown over by the wind, so as he pauses at her undergarments and waits for her to nod, he holds her upright. Mor gives her consent, and Azriel slips her out of the lace. Finally she’s naked. Finally she’s free. Free enough to move and  _ touch _ him truly.

Mor’s fingers find the hemline of Az’s loose pants. Azriel notices Cass smirk, pleased at this small sign of life, before he slips his own pants off and dips into the pool. When Mor has finished undressing him, Azriel scoops her up once more and carries her into the water.

Mor had always wanted a luxurious bathing room, with a bath fit for a queen. Not some small porcelain tub made for a child, but a pool she could stretch herself out in. The fact that the pool she got was wide enough to fit her lovers and their massive Illyrian wings was an added perk.

When Azriel sets her down into the waters, Mor nearly goes under with how good it feels. She rolls immediately over onto her back letting the water crash over her hair and scalp. And for a few moments, she is effortless floating across the calm surface. She is air. She is  _ free _ . She smells honey and citrus and pine hiding in the skin and waves of bubbles all around her and it reminds her of so many things, chief among them home.

Home.

The Hewn City had never been home. She’d known this fact even as a small child. This right here -  _ this is home _ .

Cassian catches her as she floats adrift, Azriel following at her heels. And together they fold her into themselves. Mor doesn’t mind one bit.

Neither does Cassian. He could sing for how much lighter he feels, happier now that she’s awake and moving and letting them touch her, tend to her wounds and save her. He motions for Azriel to take her against him while he moves toward a small basket sitting at the edge of the pool. The honey shampoo is her favorite, so he pours a generous heap into his palms and lathers it together before drifting toward his companions.

Azriel sits on a stone seat built into the pool and Mor immediately hops up to straddle him, her legs wrapping around his back as she sits in his lap and lets him hold her loosely. Loose enough that Cassian is free to touch her muscles and work the ache out of them.

He starts at her scalp, massaging the shampoo easily into her hair, and nearly cries out when Mor’s head falls back, her eyes closing. Each brush of those thumbs, each hold of his palms, each stroke of the muscles along her head, and it’s one less crease Cassian can see on her face. One more breath he can count rushing in and out of her lungs. One less worry breaking her down into shakes and tremors.

He looks up at Az and the two smile softly - relieved, but still wondering. Wondering what did this to her. They don’t really need to know, Cassian understands. Everyone in that rock is horrible and deserving of a fate worse than death. But he hates that they can still do this to her, can still make this kind of recovery necessary.

Slowly, his hands moving to her neck, the peace riding out on Mor’s face begins to slip into something else. Cassian tilts her head back in the water to rinse out the shampoo and then continues down her body with the bar of soap. Together, he and Az clean Mor of the dirt and the demons, and they watch her carefully because even as they can practically feel the tension easing out of her, they can also see a buildup of it on her face. It’s there in every muscle Cassian kneads and molds under his capable hands. And he hates it. Hates this worry inside his gut that just wants this to be better, wants to cure her and hates that he hasn’t already.

Azriel can see it coming. When Cassian’s hands reach her hips and press in so tenderly, Mor caves. Her head falls forward and hits the crook of his shoulder as she grabs him. A sob breaks the silence in the room. And he’s… he’s shaking. With no idea how to do this.

He never thought he’d have to do this again. It’s only been a few years since… since it happened. A handful of decades. The memory is still so fresh. She’d been splayed over the dirt caked with red leaves and red blood and a red stained nail. She hadn’t moved nor cried as she does now, but the grief was there all the same. The devastation. Just as it is here.

Azriel sees Cassian’s eyes fall shut, feels his hands stop kneading on her hips to simply hold her steady instead. His head falls forward and leans into the crease of her back. Azriel strokes around him - long soothing strokes up and down her back as the sobs rack out pulling every last ounce of feeling out of her.

It feels like the earth has fallen, dragging their perfect heaven with it. He wishes he’d been there when she crept into her room. Wishes he had taken care of her the way only Mor deserves. So for now, he’ll just hold her and listen. “Morrigan,” he croons into her ear and it’s not until he says it that he realizes the sting in his own eyes. “Morrigan, what happened.”

Her red, tear-stained face tilts up and their eyes lock. “I… I… Az.” Her lip is shaking so badly. Her  _ body _ shaking so badly.

Az shushes her, holds her close. “You can say it,” he breathes. “You can do anything. You’re  _ safe _ here.”

She blinks once. Twice. And gasps. “I - I almost killed him.” And her face shatters right along with his heart. Cassian goes completely still.

Power. Bloodthirsty and vicious. That’s what grips the general who holds the sky between his hands as he fights the urge to rip the stars apart and rain them down upon the mountains to burn her family alive for what they’ve done. He remembers the morning Az brought her back, and the morning some time later when she’d been summoned to return to that cursed city. He and Rhys hadn’t stopped until they’d found a way to get her out for good.

Cassian heaves a sigh, his huge chest swelling with a terrible ache. “Do you… Mor, do you want us to do it for you?” He hates that she sobs harder at the question, before her head starts to shake viciously.

“No,” she says. “No, no, no, no - I can’t, I can’t let you do it, I can’t, I can’t-”

“Okay, okay,” he immediately replies when she stumbles blindly onward. His arms wrap around her stomach in between Azriel’s. “It’s okay. You don’t have to - you can do whatever you want. Rhys will never care.”

“Breathe,” Az says, the only one of them whose voice holds true even if his heart is free-falling through the sky. “Just breathe, love. One at a time.” He drags Mor’s hand up his chest and places it over his heart where he knows she can feel it beating, can feel the rise and swell of his chest. Together, they learn what it means to breathe again, Mor following Azriel into the quiet until almost all the bubbles have dissipated in the water and nothing is left of her tears except a lingering taste of salt on her tongue.

It’s the first time Mor feels truly safe again, remembers who and what she is. These men, they… they make her feel alive. They make her feel loved. And important. Their skin surrounds her from every angle like a protective shell. She savors every touch, every small and soothing kiss pressed along her back or her brow as they hold her. And when the world is finally gentle again, Mor decides then and there what she wants. What she  _ needs _ .

“One day,” she says, her throat dry, “one day I want them all to die. One day, I want you two to be there.” She feels them both shift and pulls back to look at them, that bright hazel of their eyes seeming red and blue like the siphons they carry, ready to go to war on her behalf. “I can’t do it,” and she shakes her head. “Even what they’ve done, I’d rather learn to break them with words and looks and actions then with a knife or that power they sold - they sold me for. When I almost killed him now, I thought I saw a light gleam in his eyes like he was happy I’d do it, like it  _ proved _ something-”

“It doesn’t prove  _ anything _ ,” Azriel says, and it’s practically a snarl.

“I know,” she says. “Fuck, I know. But I… I still can’t do it. Maybe one day when I’m… stronger, I’ll reconsider. But for now… for now...” There’s a pause in which she can’t find anywhere to look other than the pair of them and the way she loves how their bodies shift closer to her side.  _ Loves _ . That word clatters through her making her remember all the ways she loves them and what they mean to her. Cassian nods and she knows she can ask this one great thing of them. Can trust them both with its secret.

“If ever that day comes, and I can’t do it myself,” Mor starts. Azriel resumes stroking up and down her back. She swallows, willing herself to find a way. “Will you go with me? Will you help me do it?”

Cassian leans in and lays a gentle kiss at her cheek. “Mor, honey,” he sighs, “We would help you let him  _ live _ if that was what you wanted. You don’t even have to ask.”

This time, when the tears fall, they are grateful and fulfilled. They are knowledge that she has a family and a home that loves her for everything she’s worth and then some when she feels there’s nothing left worth loving. Finally, her heart beats a little stronger and she can see the way out of the dark, empty void that’s been breaking over her for days now.

She watches as a shadow dances between them before finding its master and kissing his ear. Azriel’s eyes dart to the window where a pretty streak of yellow and orange faintly paints the grey of the dawn. And he smiles. “Your favorite,” Az says, remembering all those times he flew her through the rising sun in the Illyrian camps, those two weeks the longest she’d been outside in such a long while she was just happy to see the sun again.

Mor feels that smile on her lover’s face, let’s it fall over her too daring her lips to move.

They clean up, draining the bath and toweling off. Cass gets something for Mor to sleep it - some undergarments, a thin nightdress, and one of his old pullovers that he loves watching her inhale deeply as she tugs it on, knowing how much she claims the scent of woodsmoke and pine that he gives off.

And then they sit out on the balcony in the cool morning air together, watching the sun slowly rise up over Velaris. Mor sits tucked between them on the ledge, her legs over Cassian’s lap where he runs his fingers over her legs, and her head against Az’s chest. Behind them, both their wings stretch out and everything feels… better. Lighter. Like she can do this.

Enough that Azriel says calmly, “Next time, you tell us, okay?” Mor shifts to look up at him and he’s serious, but just as tender. The shadows are somewhat gathered until she catches his gaze peering down at her. “Promise me you’ll tell us next time, that you won’t let yourself just…,” he sighs and it makes her heart pound, “waste away. That’s twice now that I’ve found you looking -  _ that _ way. And it scares me half to death.”

She feels horrible. That she could have caused him such grief? Such genuine fear that even now she can see stilling in his eyes. But she also understands. “I promise,” she says and she means it. Next time… and there will be a next time, she knows. Next time she will find him and Cassian both. She will not waste.

“Why didn’t you come to us this time?” Cassian asks. His voice is somehow small. It feels out of place on her lionheart’s form.

Mor looks out at Velaris and the city wills her its strength. “Because… because when I got up all those steps and I found your door, you both looked so - so peaceful together.  _ Happy _ .” She knows it’s true in the way her lovers briefly look at each other and that bond of love pulses between them at the memory of how they’d been together, comforting and loving each other, while she’d been away. “I hated to think that I might disturb that, might spread the evil eating me up to you. And I think... I wanted to know that I could go to sleep, even feeling as miserable as I felt, knowing there was something on the other side to wake up to that was still good. Still whole.”

“You could have waken up to it in our bed, you know. Together.” She looks at Cassian and his eyes are so warm, so soft. And just slightly tinged with sadness. “We were waiting for you. That’s why we were together.”

Azriel’s arms wrap more tightly around her. He whispers in her ear the words they all think over and over anytime one of them leaves. “We’re not whole unless we’re together.”

Her heart melts at that, through the ice and snow it’s been buried within. “I know, I just… I made a mistake. And I didn’t want you two to pay the price for it.”

Cassian hums them and it’s the most glorious sound. So simple and yet it could fill a dance hall with life. “Well then it’s a good thing our love comes free,” he says, still running his fingers over her legs.

“Yes,” Mor says, a smile finally daring to step out across her lovely face. “Yes it is, Cass.” He returns the smile. They all do.

No more breaking.

No more haunting.

No more wasting.

Only them.

xx

 


End file.
